Twenty Minutes
by Goth03
Summary: Twenty minutes can change everything, and absolutely nothing at the same time. Oneshot. HG/DM. Please read and review, but no flames. Thanks.


**Title:Twenty Minutes**

**Rating:K+**

**Description:Twenty minutes can change everything, and absolutely nothing at the same time.** **Oneshot.** **HG/DM. Please read and review. No flames.**

**Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter. This is a completely non-profit fan fiction.**

Twenty Minutes

All misty eyes and no soul, right? Hermione studied him from across the hall. He didn't notice her watching him, he never did; there wasn't much point for his eyes to linger upon the Gryffindor table for long, he would not be greeted with warmth. None of his kind would be.

The brunette's eyes narrowed, skimming porcelain skin, sculpted like fine china. He was of a certain quality – no better than her in theory, no more human, they were biologically equals, but there was just something about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He had something. It was strange and unique; it allured her, mystified her and confused her all at the same time.

He never spoke kind words to her, or granted her even the most mildest or bland of looks. There was always hate etched upon those shapely contours, and in those deep pocket grey eyes, but beneath that, beyond it, there was something else. Something deeper. There was something about Draco Malfoy that Hermione couldn't help but… be intrigued about.

He was laughing. Some joke had been said across the hall in a flutter of Slytherin tongue and responded to by gutter laughter and a spilled goblet. She glanced at her fellow Gryffindor's, they were never up to much until after breakfast. She smiled slightly, only a small smile, but it was there.

Hermione folded the newspaper that she had been reading carefully in front of her, the paper feeling crisp and fresh under her fingers. It smelt of ink, mingled with the morning smell of breakfast; an array of buttered toast, ham, eggs, bacon and such. She liked the smell of breakfast at Hogwart's; it always smelt good, even if she didn't much fancy half of the overly fatty foods.

Taking a sip from her goblet, she glanced back over to the Slytherin table, and back to Malfoy of course. She had hated him once, most definitely, but now – well things had gotten a little strange after a certain day, a few months ago.

That was the day the lines had been blurred, their boundaries had shifted somewhat. Even if it had only been for twenty minutes, things had changed, just for a short while – it had been as if none of it really mattered. Just twenty minutes, and then it was all over.

She had been studying by the lake, in the early summer sun. She couldn't remember exactly what time it had been, but it must have been fairly late in the afternoon. Hermione had been scratching with her quill, in depth in an essay for Muggle Studies. She remembered he had laughed at her for it.

He had told her it was pointless and that she was wasting her time. She had told him that she didn't care what he thought, and when she had stood to leave, that was when he had taken her hand and stopped her.

In a moment things had changed. Life didn't matter – rules, sides, boundaries, opposition and hatred of blood. When Hermione shared gaze with Malfoy that day, she saw something. She understood something within him. Something that she had never anticipated before.

That was when he had kissed her. Only a swift one, a quick lip brush and small rush of breathe to her cheek. It had lingered there for a moment afterwards, dancing on her skin, but then he had moved back and she had even wondered briefly if she had imagined the whole thing, it had been over so quickly.

She had watched him walk away and understood. Draco Malfoy wasn't evil. Maybe he wasn't even who he wanted to be, not really. He was who he had to be, nothing more, and nothing less. Unfortunately, the world shapes us, and we have to abide certain expectations, requirements – maybe what we want or who we want, isn't necessarily what we need or are ever meant to have.

Hermione stood, setting her goblet down. She picked up her newspaper and walked out of the hall without turning for even a moment to look in the direction of the Slytherin table. Had she of glanced back, she might have caught the gaze of two grey eyes watching her make her departure, a flicker of sadness fulfilling them wholly for a moment, but then it was gone as quickly as it had come. And then things were as they were. Once more, the world was balanced in its unjust and nonsensical way.


End file.
